Infernos and Storms
by Unidentified Pie
Summary: Fighting the No Names is like jumping into a fire, into the pits of hell to fight the demons there, or battling a raging storm. It is like trying to grasp wind or stab shadows, like fighting a forest fire with a cup of water. They are fast and slippery, brash and bold, determined and powerful, and they will not tolerate anyone who stands in their way.


They're the underdogs, made up of nothing but a bunch of kids, a former demon lord missing her divinity, a moon rabbit, and three problem children.

They have nothing - not a name, not a flag. They only have a mansion and one field, which is run by a ten year old fox girl.

So it is beyond any community why the No Names are able to succeed.

And yet, they _do_. They take everything that Little Garden throws at them and change any challenge into a stepping stone, gambling more than they should and reaping excellent results every time.

They've beaten Pest, a demon lord, in battle, taking her down even when the whole Salamandra community couldn't. They've earned her loyalty, forcing her into servitude, which should've been impossible, _impossible_ for a community so small.

But they've done it. They destroyed Pest, ruined Pegasus, annihilated Fores Garo, and brought the god at the edge of the world to its knees.

And nobody understands how.

They never do, until they meet, really _meet_, the No Names, and then everything becomes so clear.

Because then they see a bunch of children that are fiercely, fiercely devoted to their community, with determination as strong as a rock wall and spirits made of fire, burning bright and strong for their community and desperate to give back, in any way they can. And they _do_ manage to give back, they _do_, they light up the mansion with their bright smiles and warm joy, like little, flickering candles waiting to welcome their fighters home.

They see a former demon lord, now reduced to a maid, with hair spun of sunlight and clad in ebony, the inky black matching the shadows which move at her whim. She controls the darkness, holds it in the palm of her hand and allows it to dance at her fingertips, and in a moment, in a fraction of a second, she can wield it as an indestructible, ever-present weapon, mercilessly, relentlessly pursuing her prey. She rules the house in an iron grip, wielding housekeeping tools almost as well as she does the shadows, watching over the mansion and making sure that the rest of the maids do everything just right, and it speaks worlds of how much she values their home, how protective she is over what's _theirs_, and it is warning, a challenge even, daring every other community to even _try_ taking away what little they have left.

Her abilities promise worlds of pain for anyone who is foolish enough to try.

They meet a moon rabbit, who seems spun of sugar and sunlight and pureness, calm and sweet and clear as a bubbling stream. She's bright and bubbly, sweet and kind, and so innocent and transparent that she can be read like a book - every emotion she feels, even in passing, is written across her face, as clear as black on white, ink on paper.

But when they have the misfortune of seeing her enraged, she becomes a demon, a violent creature born of fire and lightning, eyes glowing with an angry light and lighting in her grasp. Her hair and ears turn pink, but in the flashes of blinding lighting and the storm of her anger, they look like the embers of a fire, dancing like a burning crown around her face. Her thoughts and emotions are written across her face, and spell it out for anyone who crosses her: They do not want to anger a moon rabbit.

The words are etched in fire and fury, her pale face suddenly the colour of ashes, the same colour that she promises to burn them to, the price of enraging a servant of Little Garden.

The moon rabbit guards her friends, and will burn down anyone who tries bring them harm.

They encounter a girl with eyes the colour of the summer's sky, wearing a ruby red dress that matches her spirit, which is full of fire and passion, roaring and powerful. Alone, she is a force to be reckoned with, and when she fights with her comrades, she sets the battlefield alight, makes it _burn_ with her devouring flames, which dance in the wind the same way she dances in the fight, supported by a giant, scarlet suit of armour. She's elegant even in the heat of battle, but the suit of armour, Deen, is crimson to match the blood of her enemies and the fire in her heart.

They come across a girl born of oak, with eyes and hair the colour of its trunk and every inch of its quiet strength, watching over her friends with its silent protectiveness and keeping them safe under her branches. She's strong and quiet and determined, filled with silent strength, a calming, protective wall that stretches out, providing her friends with respite and guarding them from any sort of harm.

To her enemies, she is a violent gale of wind, slippery and fast and quiet but strong, so, so strong, knocking over any opponent and blowing them back, far, far away from her friends, refusing to let anyone do her comrades any wrong. Her white dress dances behind her as she dances through the fight, light on her feet and hard with her hits, like a ghost, a spirit, an intangible wisp of a creature impossible to hurt, impossible to hit.

When they've seen her fight, it makes people think that maybe she's not an oak tree, or a gale of wind - when you've seen her fight, she's like a dryad, a spirit residing in a tree, fast and light and strong, with the power of oak and wind at her disposal.

And maybe, if they are lucky (or unlucky, depending on which side they're on) enough, and he's not off amusing himself or doing everything alone, they will find a boy, a boy with hair spun of lighting and eyes of amethyst, just as hard, just as bright. He is brash and hedonistic and thrill-seeking, with what seems to be no cares in the world and no attachments to anything whatsoever. He is endlessly perceptive, with a mind as sharp as his eyes and faster than a moon rabbit. And he infuriates people, because he sees too much and he doesn't mind flaunting it, throwing what they want hidden into in the open, laying it out for everyone to see. He isn't shy about blackmail or violence, is willing to use whatever he can get to his advantage, and maybe he's not a hero or a knight in shining armour, maybe what he does is not righteous or chivalrous, but he's never claimed to be.

What most people see will be a boy with hair spun of lighting and eyes of amethyst, hedonistic, ruthless and cunning, perceptive and intelligent and strong, so very, very strong.

Because his comrades may be born of fire and lighting and oak and ash, but he, he is born of a thunderstorm and an inferno. He is a boy of contradictions, with a gift to destroy gifts and a gift to destroy heaven and earth coexisting in the same body, fire and the storm in one boy. There is one common thing about his gifts, though, and one thing alone.

It is destruction.

And he destroys, oh, he destroys. He attacks like a storm, hits sudden and fast and powerful, a roaring, looming cloud that makes people dread and anticipate the moment when his wrath finally falls. His attacks are fast as lightning and his laugh as loud as thunder, and on the battlefield, he thrives. His friends rain fire and ash and lighting, but he brings the storm. When the girl with the ruby dress sets the battlefield alight, he coaxes the flames, and they dance for him, bowing to the inferno; when the moon rabbit brings the lighting, he tells it where to strike. And when the girl made of oak calls the wind, he rushes forward with it, spearheading the offence.

He is like an inferno, a thunderstorm, everywhere and anywhere all at once, and his friends, his comrades, are kept safe in the eye of his storm.

Most believe that like an inferno, like a thunderstorm, he holds no attachments.

Most believe wrong.

It's a subtle difference, really, nearly imperceptible and neatly covered up by his convincing excuses, but it's there. When an opponent has hurt his friends, he becomes not so hedonistic as he is sadistic, not as ruthless as he is cruel. Rather than simply crushing his enemies, he becomes like a cat playing with its prey, batting it from here to there, taking his time and watching with amusement as it suffers, in no hurry because his opponent is completely, absolutely at his mercy.

The problem is, from the very moment his opponent laid a finger on his friends, he became merciless.

And sure, he might not kill them, but he makes them _suffer_, steals away anything they were fighting for, crushes their communities and annihilates their banner.

If he was ruthless before, he turns into a demon when his comrades are hurt.

But then again, it is a subtle difference, and hardly anyone can distinguish the two, because the boy is practically a demon, even when he isn't angry, so none of his opponents can tell the difference.

It is a subtle difference, and the smallest things, like the way he looks out for the children and watches every one of his friends from the corner of his eye, that tell people that he does care. He is like a thunderstorm, an inferno, raging and wild with a will of his own, but his friends, they are like the voices of nature, calling him back and guiding him with gentle, constant urges, so that he follows them to where they want to go. He does what they need him to do, and it's not really because they've managed to control him, but because he cares for them, he really, truly does.

And maybe he's not a hero or a knight in shining armour, maybe what he does is not righteous or chivalrous, maybe to his enemies he's a demon, a monster, a fiend, but to his comrades, to those who fight by his side, he is a hero. Even if he himself doesn't believe it, if no one else in the world does, those who see the miracles he's done do.

So really, there is no wonder that the No Names thrive, no wonder that they're making such amazing progress, because they are a community made of fire and thunder and storm and shadows, of lightning and wind and oak and ash. They fight like fire, strike as fast and hard as lightning, and are as hard to catch as wind.

They have the power of thunderstorms and infernos at their fingertips, the very shadows bowing before them, and they watch each others' backs, each supporting the others, making up the perfect offence and defense. Fighting them is like jumping into a fire, into the pits of hell to fight the demons there, or battling a raging storm. It is like trying to grasp wind or stab shadows, like fighting a forest fire with a cup of water.

They are fast and slippery, brash and bold, determined and powerful.

And they will not tolerate anyone who stands in their way.


End file.
